‘They ought not to dictate to you,’ said Phœbe, indignantly.
‘Dictate! Oh, no, my dear. If you could only hear his compliments to my discretion, you would know he was thinking all the time there is no fool like an old fool. No, I don’t complain. I have been wilful, and weak, and blind, and these are the fruits! It is right that others should judge for him, and I deserve that they should come and guard me; though, when I think of such untruth throughout, I don’t feel as if there were danger of my ever being more than sorry for him.’
‘It is worse than the marriage,’ said Phœbe, thoughtfully.
‘There might have been generous risk in that. This was—oh, very nearly treachery! No wonder Lucy tries to hide it! I hope never to say a word to her to show that I am aware of it.’
‘She is coming home, then?’
‘She must, since she has broken with the Charterises; but she has never written. Has Robert mentioned her?’
‘Never; he writes very little.’
‘I long to know how it is with him. Now that he has signed his contract, and made all his arrangements, he cannot retract; but—but we shall see,’ said Honor, with one gleam of playful hope. ‘If she should come home to me ready to submit and be gentle, there might be a chance yet. I am sure he is poor Owen’s only real friend. If I could only tell you half my gratitude to him for it! And I will tell you what Mr. Saville has actually consented to my doing—I may give Owen enough to cover his premium and outfit; and I hope that may set him at ease in providing for his child for the present from his own means, as he ought to do.’
‘Poor little thing! what will become of it?’
‘He and his sister must arrange,’ said Honor, hastily, as if silencing a yearning of her own. ‘I do not need the Savilles to tell me I must not take it off their hands. The responsibility may be a blessing to him, and it would be wrong to relieve him of a penalty in the natural course of Providence.’